Je ne suis pas "Charlie," mais je suis avec lui…

I am not "Charlie," but I stand with him...

Global community shrinking daily,

one terrorist attack at a time. 

Fanatics will do what they do,

regardless of the provocation.

How sad the religion

whose God condones

violence, not love.

Shall we confront the camel that spits in our eye?

Neither cower….nor ridicule,

but stand firm for the truth.

Beware “ignorance” and “want,”

silent precursors of rage and contempt

“Protect and defend’

isn’t the same

as “attack and destroy.”

How can we let strangers

dictate our ‘freedoms’ from afar?

Be the cure that suffuses the veins

of rabid misunderstanding.

  

I am not “Charlie, but I stand with him…

You?

 © Ginny Brannan 2014

Prompted by d'Verse Poets Meeting the Bar: 10 Word Poetry. Not sure that I would call this poetry, just the musings and ravings of a rather medicated, cold-ridden writer on the world news of the past week. Much food for thought, and as you can see, my thoughts skip all over the place...

The Writer

How do you describe someone

   with a depth of thought,

   emotions etched inside his words,

   and a heart worn on his sleeve?

We hang on the snapshots of his life…

   the love, the anger, the hope,

   the dreams, the joys and sorrows…

We follow him down sunny paths

   and decaying streets

   and see life through eyes

   both jaded and ever hopeful…

For his story is our own...

we recognize ourselves in it—
and we are touched and
changed forever in the reading.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Nick Gentry, Capture 2014

Written for d'Verse Poets Poetics: Nick Gentry

A Little Night Nonsense

Long day brakes to find the night…

manic roamers make their rounds,

Hands keep moving, best step lively;

melting minutes can’t be found.

Skip the curb to dart asunder,

missed a kiss by just one slip—

petals light on concrete steps;

tempered-crystal dreams encrypt.

Fluffy felines filled…felled…snoring,

find the soft and lose the shoe;

hear the feathers, pale moon calling;

pirouette, and bid adieu.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

d'Verse Poets Meeting the Bar: Verbal Cubism and Tender Buttons invites us to release that flow of word without restraint to grammar or meaning, similar to what a cubist painter would do, break it apart and present it again. A late attempt, but thought it might be fun to try! (Oh, and rhyming is not a criteria, but I somehow slipped into it anyways. Long day, this is where I bid adieu!)

Spit and Polish

Polished wood and brass rail

stools lined up— just so—

labels from around the world

reflect in candle glow.

The leather booths are empty,

yet voices echo still—

the murmurs of camaraderie,

of laughter and goodwill.

Saddened that the hour is late

and all the world’s at rest;

when the pub is full again

is when it’s at its best.

So come ye poets… come ye bards….

to share your thoughts and lines,

your adjectives—your metaphors—

your dreams and your designs…

Come and  share the wonders

unleashed from deep within:

each note part of the symphony

let our song begin!

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Donovan's Irish Pub Springfield, MA (Our local pub!)

The 3rd Anniversary celebration at dVerse is winding down, but we aren't quite ready to call it over.  Stop by and see what others are sharing!

On the Rail

Pulled this older piece up to share at The Mag #185.

I love the sound

of trains…

the “whoosh-shhhh”

as the brakes disengage

the “chuh . . .chuh . . .chuh . . .”

as those pistons start

moving, slowly picking

up speed, hear the

clickety-clack, clickety-clack

as steel rolls against steel.

Watching farmland,

small towns,  cities

roll by; a shared

communion with

travelers fifty,

seventy-five,

a hundred

years ago.

Coal cinders have

given way to

electricity;

polished wood,

velvet and brass           

to steel, vinyl

and chrome.

My uncle was

a trainman;

riding the rail

is in my blood.

In the distance,

I hear that

lone whistle

calling,

my heart quickens…

“Aaaall aboaardd!!

© Ginny Brannan September 2011

Train Station, my hometown Bellows Falls, VT

Rockwell Image shared by Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we the story. 

Originally shared at dVerse Poetics, 2011: Sorry I missed the Train_n_n_n_n  with Claudia on Poetics this past weekend. 

Just In...

Written for d'Verse Poets Poetics: Reaching the Masses:

“This just in, this bit of news…

the NRA have had their way,

the lobbyists have won the day--

no limits to the money spent

to bribe their way through government…

“Now we’re afraid we must report

some local children have been shot

by gun the shooter got from home

from arsenal the mother owned."

(We cannot comment with our views--

we must stay neutral on the news.)

“This just in, not far away

are people living in the street;

so many without food to eat…

“But let’s just change the topic now,

don’t want to spoil your dinner hour.

Please excuse us while we take

a scheduled commercial break.

We’ll be back with weather trends;

“Is global warming on the mend?”

(So carefully, we must discuss

wouldn’t want to cause a fuss…)

“This just in, we must deploy…

sent out once more to destroy.

"At this time we're still unsure

what this little 'fight' is for...

land or oil or overthrow;

another despot needs to go.”

Plus

“When will constant conflict cease?

“How can we find a lasting peace?”

“This just in, a quiet story

to end the show and ease your worry,

to leave you feeling quite content

with this hour you just spent...

“And one last thing that you must know

before we close and let you go:

“Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this broadcast are those solely of the author of this station, and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any specific news agency or that of the U.S. government. Examples of analysis performed within this article are only examples. They should not be utilized in real-world analytic products as they are based only on very limited and dated open source information. Assumptions made within the analysis are not reflective of the position of any U.S. government entity, or that of anyone except said author.”

***************************************************************************

(This is just written 'off the cuff,' kind of a Rant in rhyme. Poetics invites us to write from the view point of "media," in this case a television news show. P.S. "disclaimer" borrowed in part from a real news disclaimer)

Perfect Serenity

Past the witching hour

entering the realm where

reality ebbs into nocturne.

Family fast asleep;

each breath, each snore

comforting in the dark.

Time ticks on the mantle…

seconds pass, uncounted.

Enveloped in quiet,

reflecting on the day--

enjoying the solitude,

no interruptions…

I hear my inner voice

turning, churning, creating…

yesterday fades; tomorrow awaits.

© Ginny Brannan September 2012

*Written for d’Verse Poets Meeting the Bar: BeautifulSolitude, hosted by Claudia Schoenfeld. 

Image by author

City Sub-Texts

Feel the Beat

To know the pulse that beats

beneath the streets, the trains

that flow through blackened veins—

one must discover the world

awaiting through the gates,

past the turnstiles, down the stairs.

Mingle the crowds…breath the air …

pungent, offensive; assails the senses—

residuum of 5 million that

swarm this maze every day.

The dirt, the grit, the true city awaits--

          just below the surface

©  Ginny Brannan April 2012

Under the Hustle and Bustle 

Stepping out of the bright sun

to enter the subterranean

world under The Garden,

Get a ticket, find the gate;

maneuver the maze of halls

and stairs down to the platform.

Train stops: bodies off, bodies on,

Commuters, a strange breed,

heads down, read a book, read

a newspaper; whatever happens,

don’t make eye contact.

Train starts, slowly speeds up,

rocking and swaying on the tracks

New York City, Center of the Universe.

From here head north to the Bronx

riding the el past the war zone of

boarded-up, graffiti-laced buildings.

Or east to Brooklyn, Queens, the Rockaways.

Or maybe south, through Little Italy,

Chinatown, to Battery Park --

emotions still grip in the

shadow of buildings long gone.

To ride the subway is to experience

the world incognito, to become one in

a nameless, faceless crowd…

where people-watching is the norm

(as long as you don’t make eye contact)

© Ginny Brannan April 2012


*Images Wikipedia Penn Station
Written for and sharing at d'Verse Poets Poetics: Subway 4/15/12

Daenerys' Song

Written for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11: Pick a passage from a novel, essay or short story that qualifies as prose, but for you is particularly poetic. Step 1: reformat without changing so it appears to be poetry. Step 2 convert from poetic prose to pure poem. 

The Quote:

"Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords."

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, Daenerys page 29

Prose to Poetry:

Somewhere

beyond the sunset,

across the narrow sea,

lay a land of green hills

and flowered plains

and great rushing rivers,

where towers of dark stone

rose amidst magnificent

blue-grey mountains,

and armored knights rode to battle
beneath the banners
of their lords.

Daenerys' Song

I gaze across the narrow sea

recalling in my memory

a lush green land where rivers flow

fled in exile long ago.

Can see the towers of dark stone,

the castle that was once our own;

and far across the flowering plain

the blue-grey hills call out again.

Armored knights with blades of steel

rode out in service to our seal.

Usurper now sits on the throne

and dares pretend that it's his own.

I know someday I will return

to rule again, and watch him burn.

Winter comes, and time grows nigh

soon they’ll hear our battle cry…

  

as sun sets on this savage land

the dragons wait for my command

©  Ginny Brannan November 2010

It should be noted that full credit for this excerpt, the inspiration for this piece, is given to George R.R. Martin. It is he who created the amazing characters of this tale. My wonderful 26 year old son has introduced me to the books, and A Game of Thrones is also currently a series filmed for HBO. An incredible and fantastic story well worth reading and watching!

Top Photo: G.Brannan personal collection, door at Kilkenny Castle, Ireland

Here is a link for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11

Below please find a YouTube link--my words put to music and sung by a lovely young lady from Germany, who prefers to be known on You Tube by the pseudonym: Mother of Dragons. Many thanks to A.B. for contacting me and sharing her wonderful voice!

The Quiet Season

Between autumn and first snowfall

the quiet season,

as last lingering  yellow leaves

cling to skeletal branches;

fallen tree-mates litter

yards, skip noisily

across pavement.

Unmown lawns shimmer

with morning frost, crunching

underfoot. Shorts and

tees trade places with jeans

sweaters; once sandaled feet

seek warmth in thick socks

and leather boots.

Stacked cordwood awaits fireplaces

and cast-iron stoves. Pungent smoke

from burning leaves permeates the

air. Hot mulled cider and

donuts greet visitors to local farm

stands; smells of cinnamon

and cloves mingle with apples,

butternut squash and pumpkins.

Hunters once again take up arms;

bearded, booted…hiking familiar

trails, continuing ancient ritual --

thinning herds to preserve remainder

from imminent starvation.

Friday nights and Saturday afternoons

find fans at local football fields.

Spectators huddle on bleachers

bundled under blankets,

cheering favorite teams.

In waning light, we chat

across hedge separating

yards, breath rises with

each word. We linger,

knowing soon cold and

snow will hinder our 
daily exchanges.

I love this special season when

all things slow, preparing for

renewal in winter’s embrace.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011
Shared at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link #17 hosted by Natasha Head 

http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/08/openlinknight-week-17/

Photo, G.Brannan, 2009

Photos: leaves &
pumpkins: authors personal collection

Universal Language

It is in silence
where our actions speak loudest
understood by all

© Ginny Brannan September 2011

Participating in d'Verse Poet's Pub Friday Poetics with Sheila Moore. For today’s Poetics, the silent film era is the prompt.  The object, to write about one of the actors, compare and contrast silent films with present-day movies, or maybe write a parody of one of the above scenes. 

Broken Umbrella

Under broken umbrella I huddle,

poor shelter from this bitter storm…

Acid words rain 

scouring raw emotions,

eroding, undermining

until all that remains

are underpinnings

and floating debris

of the once

solid pier

that was

‘us’

Sadness and anger
hammer barrier walls

Berms of resolve dissolve,

grain
by
grain.

Pain floods in;

salt stings my face

as nothing remains
intact in the wake
of our 

personal

hurricane.

©  Ginny Brannan August 2011

Image: Flickr, Umbrella left behind by Tyler J. Clemens VIII

Shared at Magpie Tales #80. 

Shared at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night Week 7-- 8/30/11 

Condemned

Could it be that grace’s fall was preordained and planned...

seduction dwelling dormant in soft shadow of the trees--

one person finding comfort in another’s company,

while wonders of this garden lay awaiting their command.

Did evil slither into heart of female, male’s to find...

blackening the innocence of simple naked form;

forever now remembered for the wrath of Maker’s scorn,

the tempted and the temptress condemning humankind.

© Ginny Brannan August 2011

Internet photo, Google, Images, Adam & Eve

Written for The Gooseberry Garden, a new site for the Jingle Poetry community, for their Poetry Picnic Week 1 challenge: Adam and Eve. 

Sharing at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link #6  

Sacrifices (Acrostic Dectina Refrain)

She

always

cries before

returning here;

intuitively

feeling jagged sadness,

instinctively reeling, as

closeted pain, unbidden, now

escapes--anguish for the child long gone;

she always cries before returning here.

© Ginny Brannan July 2011

This poetic form is called the Acrostic Dectina, and is a variation the Dectina Refrain, created by Marion Friedenthal. The acrostic portion was added by Philip of Poet Freak. It is a 10-letter word with same first and last letters, which makes up the 10 lines of the poem. The syllable count is 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/ and 10, 10 being the first 10 syllables (or 4 lines) of the acrostic.


Shared at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night #4 8/09/11